Different
by TrainxEve-Fan12
Summary: She evokes in him things that are...different. HunterxWitch


He glared down at the mostly empty streets below the building he was perched on, a low growl ripping from the back of his throat. He was growing bored of this – he missed the old days; prey everywhere, all tasting deliciously like fear and desperation, hunting to be done. Now there was so little prey left, and what was still here had lost at least some of that slightly sweet flavoring he loved so much, terror, and they were intelligent enough to travel in packs. It was incredibly irritating.

He growled again, looking at what was left – weaklings, dumb creatures only good at attacking his prey and getting in his way. Relatives to him, perhaps, although he was loathed to admit it. He'd tried hunting them before – they didn't care about the fear or pain, and they tasted bad. Old. They weren't prey at all, too dumb to feel the right things, to taste right. They were too stupid to fear him as much as they should have.

There were others of course, his brothers and sisters, or whatever, whom he had also tried to kill before, but that had been wrong, too. They'd tasted even worse than the other weaklings, especially the larger men and the spitting women, and had fought back too much to provide any sort of fun.

He let out a sudden shriek, angered. Some of the weaklings looked up at the sound but none responded further. He let out another shriek, louder, and in reply he heard something. A sob, breath hitched in almost-fear. Excitement coursed through him for a moment at the sound; perhaps it was his prey returned at last. His head whipped to where the sound had come from and a low snarl of disappointment came from him – it was just another of his kind, sort of. A…witch, as he'd heard the prey call it before. He could not place the word with it's meaning – he couldn't remember many of the words from before he'd become as he was now, but he did know it was not meant kindly. Regardless, the sobbing girl on the street, far from the milling crowd of weaklings but still close enough to be seen through his broken eyes, was not prey and therefore of no value to him.

She let out a low moan, as though understanding that she had been essentially rejected.

He cocked his head abruptly to the side. She and her kind were odd ones, indeed. He'd never seen her eat the prey – kill them, yes, but never eat. They preferred sugar or honey. They always seemed to be crying, and their claws made him envious. Perhaps she was of interest. She and her sisters were the only ones he had never attempted to hunt – he knew he was no match for her. And she seemed to cling more tightly to what was left of her from that old time, before she had evolved as she had, when she had not been a witch but prey. And something left over from the old time in him called out to the attractive figure, thin and scantily- clad. Nevertheless, he'd never gotten close to one before, fearful of angering the rather moody creature. Perhaps, bored as he was, now was the time to try.

He leapt from the building and landed, crouched, on the ground not far from her. Her sob hitched in her throat for a moment, but otherwise she did not respond. Very carefully, feeling that emotion so rare for him, fear, he gently crawled to her. He tried to keep his movements slow and nonthreatening, but she peaked out from between her nails at him and let out a growl. He stopped and raised his hands, trying to calm her. She growled again, and he responded with a low snarl of his own. He was beginning to remember the meaning of the word "witch."

She flinched back slightly at his snarl, cowering behind her hair. She smelled…scared. He crawled a little closer, and she pulled away, growling, but now the sound was not angry or threatening, merely fearful. She could kill him with ease, and yet she feared him. He paused close to her, and she stared, wide-eyed, from between her fingers at him. He didn't move for a long time and waited, watching as her shoulders relaxed slightly and she slumped forward, no longer quite so tense.

After a long, long time she moved her hands slightly and said, very softly, "Huh…hunt…hun…ter…"

He nearly fell over in surprise. She was using the same old, dead language that the prey used, however halting and broken it might have been. Instinctively bloodlust and hunger washed through him, and he sneered. She let out another loud sob. He cringed back, raising his hands to show her meant no harm.

"Hunt…er…" she said again, very slowly. He realized that she was referring to him. He remembered the prey using that word around him in the past. Perhaps she was new to this life, new enough to have once used the word herself. The word meant…what did it mean? He thought for a long moment, unable to place its meaning. Then he remembered and smirked. Yes, that was a good name for what he was. She didn't seem to know what to make of his sneer, but her sobbing quieted. He nodded at her, moving a bit closer. She didn't cringe back this time, and he took this as a sign of encouragement. "…Ho…hot…"

This one took longer to place the meaning to. Once he did, he cocked his head. She reached out, very hesitantly and took one of his hands gently in her palm. He nearly jerked back – her skin was burning! "Hurts…"

Pity washed through him, and he moaned slightly at the feeling so very old and almost forgotten to him. He felt sorry for this pathetic creature, her skin burning, hurting from bullets. She covered her ears from his moan, and he wondered how horribly loud it might have sounded to her, how horribly painful the claws growing from her fingers might be. He wondered if his prey had ever bothered to wonder about why she did not attack them quickly or if they just blindly shot her, hoping to save themselves.

"Hurts…bad…" she choked out, growing more confident. "Hel…help…ple…ease…"

Bad was a word he remembered. Help was not, nor was please. She noticed his confused expression and pointed a clawed finger at her heart, murmuring "Kill…please…" His expression only became more confused, a feeling he resented, and she growled impatiently, her sobbing increasing volume. She tried another word. "En…end witch…." This one triggered something, and the word end brought him back to the word kill, and he remembered. He hissed in discovery, and she nodded. She wanted him to kill her, to end her, to destroy her. For whatever reason, fear or strength, she couldn't do it herself, but the pain overwhelmed her.

He frowned thoughtfully, trying to think through the haze of bloodlust just what this move could gain for him, whether she would kill him at the last minute if he actually attempted. He reached towards her slowly and while she flinched, it seemed more instinct than actual fear or anger. He took her head in his hands, surprised that her hair, while messy and dirty, felt strangely soft. She lowered her eyes as though embarrassed, shy, and started to mutter something – "Tha—" – before he twisted his hands and snapped her neck.

She slumped and fell forward into his chest. He jerked back, momentarily surprised before pushing her corpse off of him and frowning. He looked at her, wondering how she'd taste. Not like fear, or anything, being dead. Maybe like honey, sugar, the things she'd just eaten herself. Still, it seemed somehow blasphemous to consume her. He knew something odd had happened here, and did not make a move to eat the corpse as though it was prey. He snarled and barked loudly, parting the weaklings who were evidently less averse to consuming the dead girl. They may not have been smart, but they knew he was a threat, and they retreated slowly. He couldn't very well leave her – she'd be devoured in an instant. The sun was rising, and he was growing tired. This whole situation had been, for some reason, extremely exhausting…maybe he should sleep. He picked up her corpse awkwardly, pulling it to the inner corner on an alley and then slumping down against the wall, her on his lap. He clutched her tightly and nodded off to sleep in just that position.

"Hey, Nick, come look at this!" Ellis whisper-shouted to his friend. The man in question rolled his eyes but nonetheless walked over to his companion by the mouth of the alley.

"Ellis, what in the hell do you – holy shit!" Nick jumped back upon seeing the distinctive blue hoodie and gray skin, clutching the corpse of a girl to his chest. It took him the same millisecond it took him to get his gun out as it did for him to realize that the girl was a Witch. He would have shot them both had not Ellis grabbed the gun.

"I think they're already dead, otherwise…" Ellis shrugged.

"What are you boys doing?" Coach called, starting across the pavement towards them. Rochelle glanced up from the car she'd been inspecting and then quickly ran to his side, not in a hurry to be left alone. That was hell when a Witch or Hunter attacked.

Ellis and Nick both glanced back at them, Ellis opening his mouth to speak, when the Hunter twitched. Rochelle caught sight of the movement, raised her sniper on instinct, and yelled, "Duck!"

Ellis and Nick did instantly and the Hunter had a hole in it's head before it could stand. Nick shot the witch from his crouched position, just to be sure. "Look what almost happened, you moron!" He yelled at Ellis, who shrugged sheepishly.

"What is wrong with you two that you'd just…" Coach trailed off his rant when he saw what the two men had been looking at. His expression didn't soften, just grew curious. "That's the strangest thing I ever seen."

Rochelle got a closer look and gasped softly. "That's just…"

"I'll say," Ellis agreed, looking for a way out of Nick's rant. "I mean, it's like they're datin' or somethin'!"

"As much as I'd love to, we don't have the time to stand here discussing this. Let's keep moving." Nick, logical and tough now that he was done lecturing Ellis, stepped away from the alley. Rochelle and Ellis shared a look, but Ellis shrugged and started after Nick and Coach. Rochelle glanced back at the Hunter and the Witch, wondering just what kind of creature they were fighting.

Then she turned around and kept moving.


End file.
